SIDESTEP and a Tango
by An Fairtheoir
Summary: A unit of SPARTAN IIIs is sent behind Covenant lines to retrieve valuable data. The encounter more resistance then they bargained bor.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Date: August 26th 2552Location: Frigate _Orpheon_ High Orbit Over Charon IX

As the cryo tube opened air rushed in. Air that felt too warm and moist after his journey in cryosleep. The occupant of the seven foot long, five foot wide chamber stretched and rolled a neck stiff from disuse. A ripple of sharp cracks echoed around the sterile grey-walled chamber as the man's spine realigned. He winced at the tingle that accompanied the action and swept his long hair back from his eyes. As the last of steam from the defrosted cryotube vanished, the man became acutely aware of his discomfort.

He was naked, bare skin taut over packed muscle and red with cryorash that would fade in a few hours. Tall, slim, and muscular the soldier, for soldier he was, moved with the lithe grace of a panther as he walked over to the three other pods in the bay. The air of the chamber was kept at a chilly 16 degrees Celsius for the adjustment of the cryotube occupants. Any air out side of a tube, after a long hibernation, burned like a bad sunburn. The chill floor stung the soldier's feet as he inspected the other tubes, all indicator lights burned green. Good, no freezer burn. After ascertaining the status of freezer mates he allowed his blue eyes to roam the bay searching for the locker that held his uniform and rank pins so that he could attend the mission briefing.

As he reached the locker on the end a slight twinge flashed up his left arm from a long, ragged scar that ran from shoulder to elbow crook. He flexed the limb and the pain vanished. He grimaced, the first expression to cross his face since awakening, that pain usually heralded a bad day. Donning the black dress uniform he found in the locker he tied his hair, a good foot longer than regs permitted, into a ponytail. Affixing the Lieutenant Colonel's pins to his collar he considered his reflection in the mirrored wall of the chamber.

The face that stared back at him was possessed of prominent cheekbones and a narrow jaw, clean of stubble. The black uniform fit as though tailored for his tall frame, the gold rank pins winking on his collar. Cool, cobalt blue eyes stared back at his with laser like intensity from beneath ebony bangs, the rest of his hair gathered in a ponytail that reached halfway to his pants hem. He smiled at that little incongruence in his otherwise immaculate appearance. That subtle 'screw you' to the brass had almost gotten him demoted and was probably what was keeping him from making full Colonel. He didn't care, he kept his hair long as a way of honoring a friend. His uniform complete Lieutenant Colonel S-D028 Merek, a member of the SPARTANIII project's Delta company, turned to leave the cryobay. His briefing awaited.

As he traversed the multitude of iron grey corridors the comprised the _Orpheon_ Merek's mind wandered. His team along with five others had been pulled away from the training camp that had been their home for six years, Delta company was kept on standby alert after augmentation, and shuttled rapidly the waiting frigate. All they had been told as they climbed into their cryotubes was that they were being shipped out into an intense combat theater. Reach had recently come under attack and they all hoped that was were they were headed. Reach was a place of mystery for the SPARTANIIIs. Their predecessors, the SPARTANIIs had been created there but the model IIIs world was Onyx. Many of them regarded Reach with a superstitious air. So absorbed as he with these thoughts that he hadn't realized he'd reached the briefing room until the MPs standing outside snapped to attention.

Returning the salute Merek stalked past the soldiers and into the room. Inside the room was a massive amphitheater capable of holding an entire battalion. Instead seven people stood clustered around a holoprojector displaying a canyon filled with snow. Not Reach then. He sagged a bit but then, sighting a white uniform and Colonel's uniform, snapped to crisp attention and rattled off, "Sierra Delta 028 reporting as ordered _sir_!" The Colonel returned the salute and turned back to the table. Merek's eyes roved over the faces in the room. Five of them, large enough to be nothing but SPARTANs, snapped off salutes of their own but the seventh person in the room held out a hand for Merek to shake. As he accepted the hand he gazed upon a face he thought he'd never see again. She was a civilian woman in her late fifties, stern features and iron grey hair betraying her age.

"So good to see you again Merek," she said, her warm slightly tart voice confirming his suspicion. Covering his surprise he replied, "Good to see you too ma'am." Catharine Halsey stepped back and released Merek's hand, "You're always too formal Merek." The SPARTAN managed a sheepish grin, somehow Dr. Halsey made him feel six years old again. To cover his embarrassment he turned to the holoproj table and inspected the display.

The white scenery framed three objects outlined in different colors. On the left was a roughly square building lined in black with blue traceries that Merek guessed were corridors. In center of the shape was the black-and-white triangle of the ONI division. To the right of the map was a solid stripe of purple blocking off the end of the canyon, perhaps a wall of some kind. Behind the wall were purple dots representing a Covenant force. In the center was a mushroom shaped field of blue that covered the wall. Merek indicated the map, "These our targets sir?"

The man nodded and stepped up onto the dais to work the projector. He nodded, "Yes, thank you Lieutenant Colonel. Those are indeed out targets. The Covenant have erected a beachhead around the captured area of the planet. Naturally, we want it back. Inside they have a captured ONI base and are combing through our archives as we speak. Needless to say there is extremely sensitive materiel in those archives." The blue shield flashed and highlighted that place it stemmed from. At this the Colonel indicated two of the SPARTANs on the room: First Lieutenant S-D103 David and Sergeant Major S-D199 Phoebe. The icons for their squads, Spook and Spectre respectively, appeared on the shield spire. For Spook it was an black EOD helmet with red eyes and for Spectre a vague misty skull.

"These teams will infiltrate the shield tower deactivate the shield by placing a nuke at the peak of the spire. The resulting EMP pulse should disable both the shield and Covenant communications long enough for the rest of the mission to continue. Hammer and Anvil squads," at this he indicated Second Lieutenant S-D223 Henry and Second Lieutenant S-D135 Daniel. "Will be deployed with the 7th Shock Troops ODST unit. Anvil is tasked with capturing but not destroying the wall. You will use the heavy turrets and mortars therein to catch the attention of the Covenant troops stationed here." He indicated the cluster of dots.

"Hammer along with the ODSTs will be deployed behind the Covenant forces and use heavy weaponry and superior cover to force the enemy against the wall and crush them. After this is accomplished Anvil will plant their nuke and exfil with Hammer and the others." the little dots on the map were pushed back by Hammer's symbol and the OSDT skull while Anvil's symbol remained stationary. Merek's keen blue eyes flickered over the ONI base and he frowned as a though occurred to him. He raised a hand and asked, "Sir? Permission to speak candidly, because I don't think Dr. Halsey came by to see her SPARTANs off. Not completely at least," he added seeing the look on Halsey's face.

"No, I believe you have some stake in this ma'am and I'd like to know what I'm getting my team into," he finished. The Colonel spun toward him, outrage plain upon his face but before he could speak Halsey interjected, "You always were too perceptive for your own good Merek. Yes I have 'stake in this' as you say. Your mission is twofold." She gestured to the holoproj and resumed, "Your Celtic team and Ryan's Thunder team will be assigned to torch-and-burn the ONI files yes, but you will also carry out some data for me. This is vital research that is classified top secret…" Merek smirked and interrupted, "So it's need to know and we don't?" Halsey's jaw bunched in irritation but she nodded. The Colonel recovered his composure and highlighted the ONI base and the tunnel that led from the shield spire to the base.

"Celtic and Thunder will infiltrate the base. Celtic will extract the research data while Thunder purges the archives," the Infinity knot of Celtic Team and the lightning bolt of Captain S-D124 Ryan's Thunder separated and moved into different directions. The base flickered once and both icons exited via the side where they vanished. The Colo0nel turned to the six SPARTANs as the holoproj faded, "Good luck SPARTANs." Merek smiled and replied, "Sir, we make our own luck." The SPARTANs saluted the Colonel before filing out.

As Merek turned to go he felt a hand on his shoulder. He tensed instinctively, like many SPARTANs he hated being touched, then he relaxed when the familiar scent of gunpowder and smoke filled his nostrils. Without turning he murmured, "Been a long time Henry." A quiet chuckle behind him confirmed his suspicion that the massive SPARTAN held his shoulder. Henry sighed behind him, "You always did enjoy pissing off the Brass." Merek laughed sadly and replied, "Yeah, Cryss was a great teacher…" Henry's hand slid from Merek's shoulder as the large man turned to go. "See you on the arming deck?" he asked. Merek nodded, sad memories welling up once more inside him.

Cryss and Merek had met in basic at age six. Even then Cryss was a joker. After one particularly brutal day of training he had enlisted Henry, Merek, and Myka to help catch biting ants and place them in the Drill Sergeant's bunk. At age twelve, before the augmentations, he had kept his blond hair at shoulder length. When asked to get it cut he had simply bound it up under a cap that hadn't come off until the week before A-day, or augmentation day, as it was called when the SPARTANs had left in isolation chambers. The medics had nearly thrown a fit, if Cryss had been anyone but a SPARATAN candidate they would have shaved him bald. As it was, when he came out of augmentation, it hung past his shoulder blades.

When they he been fitted for armor the tech told Cryss his hair would have to trimmed. Merek thought Cryss was about to have a coronary right there on the arming deck. He instead told the tech to measure an extra inch for a braid that would run the length of his head from back to fasten on the front. The tech, who wisely decided that discretion was the better part of valor, had consented. Merek couldn't even remember what kind of helmet Cryss had worn but one of Cryss's shoulder plates was set into his own armor.

Shaking the sad memories from his head he glanced up and realized that during his musing his body had carried him straight to the armory. The Arming deck consisted for three wings, accessed by three corridors. The left hall led to the Vehicle Depository where the chainguns and cannons of various UNSC craft were loaded and serviced. The right hallway led to the Infantry Armory, where all of the weapons onboard were stored along with ammo. It was a favorite hangout for SPARTANs and Marines alike. The middle hall however was Merek's intended destination, the Armor Depository. In that drab, lifeless room were twenty-four of the most advanced, not to mention expensive, suits of armor known to man: MJOLINR. The legendary armor to made the SPARTANs the walking tanks they were idolized as.

Each SPARTAN chose his or her armor based on two things: function and personal preference. Very rarely did personal aesthetic factor into any thing. Even the paint job on the armor usually reflected the environment of the mission. For instance Henry, whose specialization was heavy hitting missions, wore mostly MJOLINR[G] or "Grenadier" armor. The thick plates and advanced shield system cut down on mobility but made the wearer able to wade through fire that would destroy a Scorpion tank and not flinch. For people like Merek's Celtic team who went on fast and quiet missions lighter armor was called for.

Merek personally wore a MJOLINR[K] variant or "Commando" helmet. Any soldier he'd aver spoken to about armor envied that helmet for looks. Merek didn't care about looks but he loved the in depth HUD, heads up display, the helmet afforded. For the rest of his armor a "Commando" chest plate allowed him to carry extra ammunition or supplies for longer term deployments. His shoulders were a cannibalized ODST plate taken from the body of a soldier who had impressed Merek on one particularly dangerous mission, the other was Cryss's "Commando" plate. The base coat for his armor was bright green with a silver stripe down his arms and legs, and one bisecting his helmet. The paint was the only personalization he put into the look of his gear but it made it made him instantly recognizable.

He entered the room and paused. The walls were the cold, lifeless metal of the rest of the ship but these were adorned with banks of readout monitors and instrument panels. Three walls were covered by this plethora of information but the fourth was a solid transparasteel wall that revealed the twenty-four suits of MJOLINR in their separate glass cases. A familiar thrill ran though Merek's body as he gazed over the sight. The anticipation of wearing the signature armor was a feeling like no other. To don the god-like armor, to take up a weapon, and to make the Covenant pay thousand fold for every wound he and his SPARTANs had suffered on that fateful day. His mind drifted back two years and for the third time that morning, sadness welled up inside him…


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Date: June 11th 2550

Location: New Alexandria, Chiron II

Gunfire hissed past Merek's shoulder as he ran. The heat from the plasma bolt seared the skin under his armor, blisters forming and popping at the time. Energy shields were wonderful for preventing the bolt from killing you but heat-proof they weren't. Rolling over the defilade he pulled the M392 Designated Marksman Rifle, or DMR, over his shoulder and settled into a firing crouch. Glancing over at Cryss he chinned his helmet comm and relayed, "The device is set, give it a few minutes then we go." Cryss, squad leader of Cross squad, nodded, his red EOD UA/HUL's lenses glinting in the harsh desert sun. His hand clenched into a fist as Merek began firing at the advancing file of Grunts. He held the pose for three minutes then spread his finger. Cross squad sprinted out of cover, Merek and Myka switching to their M45TS shotguns.

Cross squad, consisting of S-D020 Cryss, S-D028 Merek, S-D211 Myka, and S-D0112 Casi pounded boots over the soft sand as plasma bolts sizzled past them charring sand into glass. In response their own guns snapped up and spat hot death back at the Covenant. Two M45TS shotguns one MA37ICWS assault rifle and one DMR pounded the advancing aliens into submission. Blue-grey Unggoy blood soaked parched sand as the clatter of reloading sounded through the air. Casi yelped as a needler round struck the sand beside her, whipping around she blasted the unfortunate Jackal from his feet with her DMR. As it flopped, lifeless into the sand Casi shouted in warning. In the shimmering desert sun stood four Sangheili warriors, light glinting off of their hard edged armor.

More plasma bolts seared past them as the Sangeili opened fire with their plasma repeaters, the SPARTANs diving for cover behind the scattered dunes. Merek hissed in frustration as he slung his shotgun and drew his DMR. The device would go off soon and they had wanted to be far away before it did that. Sighting down his scope he took aim at the centermost Elite, firing of four rounds. The 7.62X51mm tracers struck the Elite dead center on his chest killing his shields. The massive lizard staggered, making him an easy target for Casi's headshot to spray purple gore out the back of his helmet to spatter the glassy sands.

"Thanks Merek," she called over shoulder. Merek sublimated his irritation at having his kill stolen by the markswomen and increased his pace over the searing sands. A large embankment hove into view already scorched by combat. From behind the dune spat gunfire and grenades that ripped into the charging aliens, dropping several in pools of blood. As Cross squad leapt over the defilade Merek was struck from behind by something that knocked him spinning into the trench behind it. Rising to the firing step he felt around on his back, a scorch had burned itself into his plate. He gave silent thanks for the reinforced plates he had opted for at the last upgrade, they had saved his life. Popping his head over the glassy sand he noted that instead of the number Covenant troops decreasing from the vicious action that had just taken place in the open desert their numbers had grown. They had met the force attacking the emplacement.

A green sun erupted on the dune beside Merek and he felt a hand yank him down. Cryss slapped him on the shoulder. "Stay down dammit! They have hunters," he shouted over the noise of battle. Merek swore viscously and loaded a new clip into his DMR. Nodding at Thunder squad who had held the emplacement while Cross had completed it's mission Merek popped back up and sighted. Gunfire ripped into the file of Grunts and the little aliens barked and squealed as their numbers dwindled. As his clip ran dry Merek slapped a fresh clip into place and resumed firing, his first shot disintegrating a Jackal's head. As the creature collapsed a loud _CHOOM _sounded as one of Thunder squad fired a rocket into the horde, scattering blood and bits of meat over the desert. In response plasma seared the air at the eight SPARTANs.

Merek played the reticule over a team of Grunts supported by Jackals and one Elite. Lowering the rifle he yanked a grenade from his belt and flipped the pin free. Heaving himself onto the trench lip he launched the sphere with all his strength. The explosive landed in the middle of the squad and detonated. The center Grunts were vaporized and most of the Jackals collapsed, shredded by shrapnel. The Elite huddled behind his shields but fire from Casi and Myka made short work of the tall alien. Snarling with fury a Hunter whipped around, a viridian glow building inside his weapon "DOWN…FEUL ROD!" screamed Casi as she threw herself at Merek slamming him back into the trench. Searing heat filled the air and the world turned green.

Merek awoke to thunder. A shout followed by gunfire and the whine of plasma sounded over his head. The world twisted and revolved as he tried to focus on something. The last thing he remembered was Casi slamming into him and the air turning unbearably hot. His hands scrabbled over the glassed sand in search of a weapon but instead brushed over a MJOLINR plate. Following that plate he encountered a joint. A gasp echoed beneath his helmet as his shaken brain processed what he was seeing. This was Casi's leg, without Casi attached. A groan dragged his gaze up to the lip of the crater. There was Casi, or what was left of her. The entire right side of her armor had been burned away and her face nothing more a skull covered in scorched flesh. Her arm was no where to be seen and her DMR was twisted mass of glowing metal.

"Casi," he murmured. Pure sadness welled up in him as his enhanced vision took in the extent of her injuries. Fatal even for a SPARTAN. He bellied over to her and was about to take her tags when she groaned again. Stirring she tried to push herself to her feet but collapsed back into the sand. She turned her ruined face to Merek and growled in a slushy voice, "C'mon, get me back to my feet. I'm fine." Merek shook his head, forcing his horror down, "No Casi. You can't fight like you are. You're blind for one…for another…" He was about to finish speaking when she slapped his hand away.

"I can see in one eye at least," she spat as she tried to lever her self with a nonexistent arm. Seeing that there would be no reasoning with her Merek dragged her from the crater despite her protests. Placing her on a dune higher than the rest he placed his DMR beside her and murmured, "Just don't miss." She swatted at him as he dashed away. Grasping the rifle with one hand she sighted the scope with her remaining eye.

"Right," she hissed. "Let's see how many of you I can send to Hell before me!"

Merek pulled his shotgun off his back he checked the loads on it. The six round in the magazine were heavy with buckshot but some of the shells held in his webbing had melted and fused. Shaking his head he racked the pump and resumed sprinting for the trench. As he reached the defilade an explosion of sand burst through the wall and something solid slammed into him, knocking the shotgun free from his hands. Rolling to kill the impact he came to his feet, knife already in his hands. As it shook off the sand that had covered it the Elite warrior roared a challenge Merek was only too happy to accept. It was time to take some revenge.

Throwing his shoulder into a tackle he rammed the Elite back into the sand and began pounding on it's shields. As the blue-white barrier flashed the Elite struck out with one massive fist that impacted on Merek's chin and sent him reeling from his adversary. As he regained his feet Merek flipped the knife in his hand around into a reverse grip as his Covenant counterpart ignited the energy dagger mounted in it's wrist. The two killing machines faced each other, green reptilian eyes meeting cold silver visor. The combatants circled each other feinting and posturing but in the end it was the Elite who made fatal mistake. In it's pacing the massive lizard had turned it's back to the trench it had bust out of.

Merek lunged forward smashing his knife hilt into the Elite's face, the alien grunted in surprise but brought up it's own blade. As it fell Merek followed it, earning himself a deep slice up his left arm. His weight combined with the fall burst the Elite's shield and allowed Merek's combat knife to slide into the soft throat of the Covenant killer and send dark purple blood pouring onto the sand. The creature twitched once as Merek wrenched his blade free but remained still thereafter. As Merek wiped his knife clean he watched the emerald eyes of his victim mist over in death. A short laugh barked from his lips as he flipped his shotgun back into his hands and sprinted back into the fray.

Merek glanced at the chronometer on his HUD and swore, the timer on the device was about to his zero. Chinning the squad com he shouted, "Grab you asses SPARTANs we've got a nuke about to hit zero!" Curses sounded over the com as the SPARTANs rushed to find cover from the EMP shock that would accompany the blast. A rumble started in the desert that turned into a roar and a burst of static brushed along Merek's HUD as the first waves EMP coursed over the desert. Flinging himself flat Merek covered his head as the shock wave tore his breath from inside his helmet. Sand covered him and his shields flickered as something struck him across the shoulder.

When the roaring and wind had ceased he glanced up at his shield bar. It held steady for a minute then dropped to zero. His shields were gone. Footsteps crunched on sand and Merek raised his head. An Elite staggered past, shields a solid blue. Merek lunged forward, bringing the barrel of his shotgun to bear on the alien's head. He fired, sprawling the Sangheili onto the dune with a halo of purple blood preceding him. Thumbing another shell into the shotgun's breech Merek laughed. Time to finish this.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

The fighting went on for the rest of the day and as the first bloody tinges of sunset brushed the horizon the Covenant decided to charge. The attack was preceded by a barrage of fuel rod cannon fire that flattened the dunes the SPARTANs had sheltered behind. As the remaining soldiers grabbed dirt Elites armed with a plasma rifle and energy swords rushed the embattled soldiers. Merek gritted his teeth as he loaded last shell into his shotgun, this was it. Rockets from Thunder team sent fountains of purple into the air as Elites disintegrated under the barrage SPNKR missiles. In response the charging Sangheili sent up a massive flood of plasma fire that charred the sand around the SPARTANs into back glass.

As the massive horde closed Merek and his counterpart on Thunder opened up with their shotguns. Their buckshot tore thought Covenant flesh and dropped Elites by the dozen. It still wasn't enough. As the last shell smashed an Elite onto his back Merek threw aside his shotgun and drew his Magnum. A combat knife stuck in the ground beside him the SPARTAN kneeled, picking his shots to target knees and ankles to stagger the Elites. As the clip ran dry he slapped a fresh one in and yanked his knife free of the sand. It was time to get personal.

As the first Elite cleared the dune Merek lunged forward, ramming the barrel of his Magnum into the aliens throat. The high velocity Magnum round tore free from the barrel in a welter of blood. The Elite folded back under Merek's momentum and the SPARTAN continued his charge. Two more rounds burst forth from his pistol, one flattening an Elite to his left, the other grazing it's sword hand. Dropping the empty clip he inserted his last full one. Seven rounds left.

Leaping a dune he blasted his attacker back down the slope.

"One," he shouted. Six rounds left.

Rolling under a strike from a sword he carved his knife across the back of the Elite's legs, dropping it to it's knees. Placing the gun on it's forehead he snarled, "You'll be number two!" Five rounds left. A shout from beside Merek jerked his head around to see three Elites, two Majors and an Ultra, making a beeline for him. Dropping to a knee he fired once and put one of the Major's over on his back.

"That's three," he cried. Four rounds left. Another shot punched into the Ultra but he didn't fall instead he drew a pair of plasma rifles and began to return fire. Three rounds left. Merek bolted to the right as the white-hot plasma charred the sand where he had stood. Firing again Merek put his shot into the remaining Major's Eye slit. The massive Covenant soldier halted and brought his hand up to where the round had left agory crater in his face. He shuddered once and collapsed, staining the sand indigo. Two rounds left. "Number fou…." he shouted as a burst of plasma spattered across Merek's armor and threw him onto his back. It was like being hit with a white hot sledge hammer. Agony seared through his body as his plates superheated before cooling.

Dazed and gasping, the SPARTAN fought to get his vision under control as the Ultra stalked towards him. Raising the Magnum he fired once, the large bullet glancing off of one plasma rifle, one round left. His hand shook as the pistol came back up. Centering his HUDs targeting reticule over the Elite's faceplate. Too thick. Then he noticed that one of the plasma rifles clutched in the Sangeili's Three fingered hands had redlined with heat. That was his target. Placing the circle of the reticule that had become the extent of his world directly on the glowing lines. A feral grin split his features as he hissed, "Number five." The recoil of the gun tore the weapon from his hand and sent it spinning across the ground to disappear.

The bullet streaked towards the plasma rifle in what seemed like so motion as Merek fought to stay conscious. As the .50 caliber Armor Piercing Cartridge smashed into the overheated gun the result was nothing short of spectacular. A small spider web of cracks burst from impact and a small blue pulse flowered out. The crack spread and more plasma bloomed from the stricken weapon as the Elite made to throw it away. Too late. With an almighty explosion the plasma rifle detonated with the force of a dozen plasma grenades. Merek at last sank into blackness as the burning wave rushed over him.

A hand slapped his face, his face not his helmet. Groaning Merek cracked his eye open and immediately shut them again as sand blew into them. The hand slapped him again accompanied by a stern voice, "C'mon Merek. Wake up dammit!" Opening his eyes again Merek croaked, "Five more minutes mom." Hands hauled him to his feet and someone pressed a helmet into his hands. He nodded his thanks, vision still blurry. Hands slapped his back and people cheered as Merek sealed his helmet and coughed sand from his throat. He nodded again as Cryss who had been slapping Merek's face tossed him a shotgun and a box of shells shouting, "See if you can find some use for those. Take your time, we've got a minute. The Covies are regrouping. Never seen Elites loose morale like that but man…after you 'sploded that Ultra, they were gone. Unfortunately they're coming back so gear up SPARTAN."

Merek nodded as he thumbed the shell into the breach of the gun. Time to finish this. Then Myka screamed and gunfire echoed over the desert. Six SPARTAN heads whipped around at the sound. Merek racked the slide on his shotgun and sprinted off at the head of the group. Over the trenches and corpses of the previous battle lay a thin layer of sand that would soon bury the signs of battle completely. Following the sounds of battle the squads vaulted over the dunes at the back of the encampment to find the source of the sounds. During the brief lull in the fighting a unit of SpecOps Elites had made their way around the encampment and surprised Myka. There she lay, bloodied and battered at the feet of a shifting man-shape. Fury pierced the haze of exhaustion that had settled over Merek and he leapt forwards, shotgun thundering. The stealthed Elite roared as it fell, buckshot tearing through its body.

As the SPARTANs engaged their attackers gunfire spat back and forth between the sides and the screams of the dying once again filled the night. The SPARTAN beside Merek collapsed a needler round punching through the visor of the man's Air Assault helmet and exiting the back. Merek added another thousand Covenant he would slay to avenge his comrade, he was already up to three thousand, Casi, Myka, and the man who had died next to him. Roaring the bloodied SPARTAN charged into the advancing Elites, the rest of his allies forming a flying wedge behind him. Merek fired his shotgun until it ran dry. Tossing away the empty weapon he scooped up two plasma pistols and resumed firing.

Firing two overcharged blasts into the horde he plucked a plasma grenade off of a fallen Elite's belt, thumbed it active and launched it. The glowing blue orb arced out over the crowd and adhered to a Major in the back. The large warrior roared in defiance as he and the two Sangheili beside him vanished in a blue-white conflagration. Merek overcharged the pistols again then tossed them aside as well. A combat knife appeared in each gloved hand and immediately disappeared hilt-deep in alien flesh. Purple blood poured onto the sand as the SPARTANs carved their path of death deep into the night. Breaking free the SPARTANs kept running. They wanted to loose the Covenant forces in the dark.

"New coordinates from command," Cryss panted over the comm. "We're to extract two miles down range. C'mon, let's g-ARGH!" Merek gestured for the other to keep running as he turned back. Most of the Elites were dead or wounded so his going was easy. Glancing at the IFF reader in his HUD he located Cryss's life signs, injury wasn't too bad. Reaching his fallen leader Merek checked him over, a plasma round had punched through his knee and sent the SPARTAN tumbling to the ground.

"Having a nice nap boss," Merek inquired as he hauled his friend to his feet. Cryss laughed though his pain and racked the slide on his sidearm, "We can't go anywhere Merek." Cross Two's head canted to the side in an unspoken question.

"She's still alive man," Cryss said softly gesturing towards Myka. Merek nodded, understanding. Since no SPARTAN was ever able to really connect with a normal person they connected with each other. Each SPARTAN team was like a family whose bonds couldn't be broken. They did not ever leave each other behind. If there was even the slightest chance that Myka was still alive they had to find out.

Walking through a field of corpses to find one was unpleasant enough as is but when the person you're looking for may as well be your sister it becomes unbearable. A lesser man would have given up and wept but SPARTANs physically couldn't cry. No one was sure why but just like SPARTANs couldn't die, they couldn't cry. Just as they were about to surrender and list Myka as MIA Merek's IFF pinged.

"Got her," he called to Cryss. There she lay blood forming a moat around her body, crimson laced with violet. Rolling her onto her back Merek yanked her helmet free from crushed clamps and placed his finger over her carotid artery. A dull, thready pulse pushed against his fingers, he bowed his head. She was alive. Running his gaze over her armor he noted the rents and gashed that marred the dull blue plates. A massive gash across her chest and stomach had since ceased to ooze blood but Merek wasn't fooled, the blood was pooling inside her chest cavity. Snapping the cap off of the biofoam canister on his belt he placed the nozzle in the wound and triggered the canister. Blood exploded from the wound as the foam sterilized the wound and sealed it. A temporary measure given that nature of the wound.

He then turned his attention to the slice across her pale neck. It looked as though the gash transected her trachea and had fused her larynx. That she was still alive was amazing. Pulling free his combat knife Merek slid the blade into the fused tissue and removed it. Ripping the tube from his own air canister he inserted it into the incision. Almost instantly a whistling noise issued from the end of the tube, a sign that Myka was breathing.

"Good work," Cryss murmured from over Merek's shoulder. He nodded absently and they took each of Myka's arms and gently pulled her back into shelter. Merek grabbed whatever weapons he could find which were not much. Two pistols, a DMR, and a functioning energy sword were piled beside Myka when his search was finished. Cryss held one of the pistols to the sky and fired their only flare into the sky, hoping the extraction ship would see it. Merek nodded and slid the remaining pistol into his holster and activated the energy sword. The loud _FSHHH _of the weapon echoed over the empty desert. This was it. Two battered SPARTANS protecting a third and hoping the extraction ship reached them in time. Merek lay back on the soft sand and watched the twin moons revolve slowly in the sky. It was a beautiful night to die.


End file.
